She stood up on the toes of her slippers, stretching her arm to reach the top shelf. When she saw him, her face brightened. “Just the fellow I need. Can you reach that tin?”

He stepped past her, briefly resting his hand on the small of her back. “What is it?”

“Sugared biscuits. Mrs. Crabtree made them for our tea yesterday.”

He retrieved the tin with ease. “Here you are.”

“Thank you.” As she took it from him, their bare fingers brushed.

A frisson of heat flickered low in his belly. She smelled of summer roses, lavender water, and starched linens. Clean and fresh and sweet. “Laura…”

She looked up at him. “What is it?”

“After tea, I have to pay a visit to the vicarage.”

“To see George?”

“To speak with the vicar. I owe him some kind of explanation.”

“He may not be in any mood to hear one. With everything George has been saying, he’s predisposed to think ill of you.”

“With good reason.”

A cloud of worry darkened her brow. “It’s not going to be a pleasant visit, I fear.”

“No. Which is why it’s better to get it over with. Especially if we want the vicar to marry us.” He paused, suddenly uncertain. “You do wish to marry in a church?”

“Of course.”

Mrs. Crabtree chose that moment to poke her head around the corner. Though she saw them both standing together, plain as day, she addressed her remarks to Laura as if Alex wasn’t there. “Did you find those biscuits, miss?”

“Yes, indeed. Here they are.” Laura handed her the tin. “Do you need my help with anything else, Mrs. Crabtree?”

Mrs. Crabtree’s mouth tightened a fraction. “You attend to your guest, Miss Laura. I’ll bring the tray in soon as it’s ready.”

“I often help,” Laura confided after the housekeeper had gone. “I suppose she doesn’t care for me to admit it in company.”

“You cook?” Alex was unable to keep the note of surprise out of his voice. Ladies weren’t supposed to assist in the kitchen, no matter how straitened their circumstances. Cooking was servants’ work.

“A little,” she admitted. “Why? Do you think it beneath me? I assure you it isn’t. After my father died, we couldn’t afford to keep on the kitchen maid or the parlor maid. It was up to me to help Mrs. Crabtree with some of the chores—and the meals, as well.” A faint flush of color rose in her cheeks. “I’m not ashamed of it.”